


happy ending

by basementhero



Series: heal it or break it all apart [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Famous Harry, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 12:05:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7221670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basementhero/pseuds/basementhero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has some regrets: things he has done but shouldn't have, things he should've done but didn't.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>a follow-up to "love me or leave me"</p>
            </blockquote>





	happy ending

**Author's Note:**

> song title/inspiration from MIKA's "Happy Ending." cross-posted from tumblr.

Harry’s least favorite feeling is waking up alone, but that hasn’t always been the case.

In university—for the few semesters before he dropped out to pursue a career in music—he was fairly unapologetic about leaving his lovers before they could fall asleep together. It seemed too intimate at the time, sharing a bed. Harry was one of those people who saw youth as a time for freedom, for avoiding attachment, for digging your roots up out of the ground and gathering them inward so you couldn’t put them back down again until you reached that mystical line between young and mature.

Then he met Niall and rethought his choices. They were both twenty, both a bit wild, both not looking for anything other than a night of raunchy fun. They ended up at Harry’s flat: messing up his sheets, staring at the ceiling with twin grins, singing Fleetwood Mac and The Eagles and Shania Twain in surprisingly accurate harmony considering their blood alcohol levels. Harry didn’t ask Niall to leave and Niall didn’t go of his own accord, so they fell asleep side-by-side and awoke with Niall curled up behind Harry, using the taller man as an over-sized teddy bear.

That first morning with Niall—sunlight peaking in from the cracks in the blinds and making Harry’s hangover headache flare uncomfortably—was like a switch going off in Harry’s brain. Now he craves soft breathing cutting through the silence of the morning. He has trouble getting out of bed in the morning when there’s no ritual untangling of limbs. He feels unnaturally cold without the warmth of shared body heat, or at least a hand stretching across the mattress to lay on his arm when it’s too hot for much touching.

He could maybe get by with strangers picked up from pubs, perhaps the odd night or two getting so drunk with a mate that no one will question him falling sloppily, platonically asleep beside them. He could adopt a pet—a giant fluffy dog that will curl up by his feet or a fat cat to sprawl across his head. Nothing would actually replace what he’s missing, though, which is why he doesn’t bother much with any of his options anymore.

After Niall left him, Harry dated Kendall for two months before she left him, too.

(Neither of them left. He sent them away.)

He had a series of short flings for the next four months—models and actresses and singers and this one man he met in a club that was Irish and blond and in no other way similar to Niall. His manager called to shout at him every other day, sent him passive-aggressive emails on the other days with links to whatever the press was calling him that week. Usually some variant of “man-whore.” Most people seemed to think he was on a downward spiral because of Kendall—because he wasn’t good enough for her, because she was the love of his life, because they were too perfect to last. Some pointed out that he went from a long engagement straight into a new relationship and maybe his true regret was that first half, not the second.

It had made so much sense to date Kendall. She understood fame far better than he did. She was used to paparazzi and red carpet events and the pressure of everyone watching you all the time. Harry could tell that Niall wasn’t comfortable at award shows, sitting near people that he idolized. Niall wasn’t comfortable being bombarded with cameras whenever they went out for anything. Harry’s life changed; maybe he thought Niall couldn’t change with it. Maybe he thought Niall shouldn’t have to.

Regardless, Harry can admit that the way he went about it wasn’t the best. Doing his best to ignore the problem—so well, in fact, that he often forgot there even was one—until he could reach an epiphany was unfair. It was unfair to Kendall, who he complimented and flirted with and practically asked out on dates all the time while still insisting there was nothing romantic about their relationship. It was unfair to Niall, who he just pretended didn’t exist when it suited him. It was unfair to Harry himself, letting himself think he could have it both ways.

He doesn’t particularly _enjoy_ change; that’s what he tells himself when he wonders why it took him so long to pick a side. Niall had been there for so long, it was strange to imagine life without him there in some capacity.

Harry can picture it very clearly now.

He never knows what’s going on in the world of sport. This is obviously a good thing, as Harry is not a fan of sport, but it does mean that he’s missing one of the small talk topics he would sometimes use to break the ice with new people.

The ensuite smells completely like Harry’s assortment of expensive soaps and cleansers. There used to be an undercurrent of cheap, generic shampoo and shower gel. There is exactly enough space for all of Harry’s things. He resists buying a handful of extra tubes and jars and brushes to make everything feel precariously packed into every available spot.

All of his shirts and jumpers are always available to him. He never goes into the closet looking for a t-shirt and comes out empty-handed. He also can never find a discarded snapback to jam onto his head and hide his bad hair days. He’s strictly limited to hats that he owns. It seems a bit silly to go out and buy his own snapbacks. He doesn’t even like them.

The kitchen cabinets go empty for days at a time because Harry doesn’t ever remember to go to the shop for more groceries. When he does remember, he never gets everything he meant to and ends up bemoaning the lack of some food item or another.

Nearly a year after breaking up with the man in the most polite, detached way Harry could, he doesn’t expect to see Niall perusing the fruits at Tesco.

Niall looks different that he did when Harry last saw him.

(Of course he does. He’s not crying. He’s not grabbing his things. He’s not looking at Harry with equal parts resignation and heartache.)

The difference, though, is not in itself new. He looks like a memory, like when they were just starting to try being exclusive. He glows with contentment, a little bit of anxiety, and excitement. He shines as a beacon of new love, the honeymoon stage embodied in one person’s smile.

The man standing behind him with his hands planted firmly on Niall’s hips and his chin on the blond’s shoulder isn’t nearly as beautifully in love.

“Get the red ones,” he says when Niall reaches for the yellow apples Harry knows he prefers.

“Get your own apples, Liam.” Niall makes a half-hearted attempt at swatting _Liam_ ’s hands away from him.

Harry doesn’t wait for either of them to look up and see him. He backtracks out of the store, leaves his carton of almond milk behind and doesn’t think about how he won’t be having that salad he planned for dinner.

He doesn’t let himself remember how much better it gets with Niall, how he grows into himself and gets comfortable in all the places you didn’t know he could fit. He doesn’t imagine the brilliant, watery grin Niall gave him after five minutes of talking in circles around the question he’d gotten down on one knee for, and he certainly doesn’t let himself imagine that “yes” going to someone else.

So he goes home with his mind resolutely blank, and he pulls out a brand new leather-bound notebook, and he writes on all the things he cannot think about. His manger will be pleased. Misery always sells.


End file.
